


Life as a Bloodthirsty Lesbian

by urissuggestion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awesome Dean, Cute, F/F, Gen, Hurt Sam, I Don't Even Know, Insomnia, Strong Language, Thanks, Vampires, awesome awesome, awesome gays, domestic vampire couple, goodbye i'm never writing again, this whole thing is probably someone's kink, vagina, vampire lesbians, watch out kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-28 18:32:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11423721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urissuggestion/pseuds/urissuggestion
Summary: Little things still clung to his heart and mind like dewdrops, like the scents of cinnamon and clove in her perfume, the rough but clean texture of the sheets on their bed, or the chip in paint that was on the wall by the door, as if some previous owner of the apartment had thrown the door open against it in excitement or anger... The aftertaste of freedom had turned bitter, hanging on his tongue indefinitely, and water, coffee, and even whiskey couldn’t mask it.





	1. .I.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam is tired, Dean is a shitstick, and both of them are outrageously unproductive.  
> Not in that order.

Finally, void. Endless, painless, all-encompassing void embraced him completely for the first time in weeks. It was quiet here, warm and thoughtless. Something started tugging through the thick blanket of darkness after a while. A little nudge at his face. He pushed it away and drifted further. A little hum made itself apparent for a fleeting moment before he put a stop to that too with a pillow to his ear. He was determined to relish in the only quality rest he’d had in what felt like months. Apparently his brother had different ideas.

Sam was welcomed to the land of the living by a giant, shit-eating grin.

“Morning, Princess.”

Dean was perched on the bed parallel to his, clearly dressed and caffeinated. He had a pen in his hand, which he had obviously been using to prod at his face while Sam got the only five hours he was likely going to get in a while. He wasn’t about to talk with Dean about it, (being a clear violation of their established  _ No Chick Flick Moments  _ rule) but it had only been two months since Jessica’s death, and while the memory was distant while he was awake, the image of his girlfriend with flames curling around her face and frail body pinned to the ceiling seemed glued to his eyelids whenever they closed. It wasn’t often Sam slept without being plagued by nightmares, and he didn’t appreciate the awakening.

Groaning, he sat up. Dean tossed him something warm, wrapped in foil.

“Breakfast sandwich, for the lady.” He informed Sam, before standing up and moving towards the desk. “Get your lazy ass up, I found us a case.”

Still half-asleep, Sam reluctantly dragged himself from his warm cocoon of old sheets and lumpy pillows, supplied by their latest filthy motel room. The word “coffee” barely passed his lips before a paper cup appeared in his face.

“Decaf mocha latte.” Dean gave him a once-over, with a little concern, but mostly amusement in his eyes. “Figured you’ve had enough triple-red-eyes for awhile, Sleeping Beauty.”

Sam made a groggy noise of disapproval before grunting his thanks, taking a sip, and pulling up a chair next to Dean to see what kind of work he could have possibly accomplished in the--Sam checked the computer’s clock--four and a half hours he had been asleep. He’d collapsed around 7:00am, and it was now 10:30am.

“So, what do you got?”

Almost immediately, he regretted asking.

Sam recalled from his days at Stanford having to pick up feminine hygiene products for Jessica on a few occasions. He had been fine with it, since it was a natural function of her body, and at least she wasn’t pregnant. On one morning though, he remembered waking up to a wet, sticky bed, and an extremely apologetic girlfriend with red completely staining her inner thighs. He hadn’t been angry at all, as much as astounded that she had excreted  _ so much blood _ , and hadn’t even noticed until she woke up. That day, Sam found a new respect for women, and ended up making Jess lasagna and cheesecake for dinner.

“--ripped apart from their vaginas.” Dean was saying. “It’s fucked up man. They’re saying it’s an animal attack, but two women, on the twelfth day of every month. And before the killings they were getting raped. It’s just a couple towns over if you wanna check it out.”

Sam blinked and cleared his throat. “Uuh--yeah, I guess that does sound like our kind of thing…” He paused. “Their vaginas?”

“I can show you the pictures if you want.”

“No thanks, Dean... Do I want to know what you searched for to find this?”

Dean slammed the laptop shut and shoved it in Sam’s messenger bag, before placing it into his brother’s hands. “Shut your face. Let’s go.”

Sam ate his sandwich in the passenger’s seat of the Impala on the way to a public library in Montpelier, Vermont. The town (considered a city by Vermont standards he supposed) seemed innocent enough, if you didn’t read the newspaper. Older kids were walking around town, laughing and carrying iced beverages, while younger kids spent their Saturday morning playing in the grass in front of the building. Sam dodged two children who ran by him squealing, in the midst of an intense game of tag. Smiling, he adjusted his bag and continued up the steps.

Immediately, he was hit by the cool air, heavy silence, and distinct smells that could only be associated with old, well loved books that had lasted generations. Grateful for a few hours of escape from Dean’s pugnacious attitude, he found a desk for his laptop and belongings, and he began to research.

Strangely enough, Montpelier didn’t seem to have much of a history with murder leading up to January 2006, which was when the monthly killings started. Every time, it was a woman in her mid-twenties, with long hair, and who was, objectively, fairly attractive. It had been going on for five months already, and the twelfth of July was that Thursday. Today was Tuesday, which was exactly why he and Dean were on the case now. Whatever was killing these women had to be stopped. He just needed to find out what it was first.

Upon researching creatures that fed off women’s genitalia, or perhaps cursed them from the inside, (this was profoundly awkward to look into, and provoked the highly disapproving look of an elderly woman who was passing by) he was rewarded with the discovery of a Japanese monster, the  _ Kekkai.  _ These creatures were thought to be spawned during childbirth, when instead of a child, a woman gives birth to a deformed lump of flesh and hair, said to have two tongues, red and white. After further inspecting the behavior of the  _ Kekkai,  _ however, Sam found no mention of victims being gutted from their lady bits.  _ Kekkai  _ would scurry away and hide beneath the floorboards long enough to come back and kill their mothers in their sleep. Not to mention the fact that none of the victims were pregnant, which he probably should have thought of earlier. Back to square one.

A few hours passed, and Sam had found an enormous, steaming pile of nothing. He was beginning to think that it was entirely possible the killings were done by a human. Maybe it was some sort of gross cult thing. If that were the case, he had entirely wasted his day sitting in the library on his ass. His gaze wandered to the clock, and he was ripped from his thoughts upon finding that the library was closing in seven minutes. Looking around, he found some of the lights to be switched off, and other browsers to have left. The natural light from the windows was nearly gone and fading fast.

In a minor fog, Sam stood up and stretched his legs, gathering his belongings. He tucked away books that had been of no use to him back in their respective shelves, and carried himself out of the door, shouldering his bag. He decided he could definitely use some caffeine. Staying focused for long periods of time always put him in a bit of a daze, not to mention that four and a half hours was the only sleep he’d gotten in two days. It was long past coffee time.

Exiting the building, he was startled out of his thoughts by a loud buzz. Once it registered that his phone was ringing, Sam scrambled to reach for the device, and answered on the third ring.

“Yeah, Dean, I’m just leaving the library. Can you pick me up?”

“Sure. I’m wrapping things up over here, so just sit tight, alright?”

“Alright. See you in a bit.”

Waiting outside the public library, in fading daylight, Sam cleared his mind a bit. He set his bag down on a bench and began to pace, watching the cars go by, and was ready to go by the time Dean pulled up in a parking space right in front of the bench, and he loaded himself in. Sighing heavily, he settled in the passenger’s seat.

“Find anything?”

“Just that our vic Carol Chapman has a bitch-ass mom, and her ex-boyfriend’s got one hell of a thing for dead chicks.” Dean shook himself as if trying hard to erase that thought from his head.

“That’s something, isn’t it? If the guy’s a pervert, isn’t it possible he’s committing some kind of gross sacrificial thing?”

If it were possible for Dean to look even more profoundly disturbed, he did in that moment. Shaking his head for a moment, he stared at the road. “Trust me, he’s not our guy.”

Sam decided not to ask.

.oOo.

 

That night, Dean snored loudly and Sam thrashed in the motel bed, trying to keep himself awake. He knew he needed sleep--and he wanted it too. Sleep was fucking awesome. Or, at least, it would be, if he didn’t have horrific nightmares every time he closed his eyes of Jessica’s boiling flesh and pleading face, demanding to know why he would leave her, and allow this to happen. Each time, she screamed at him, and each time he couldn’t answer her. Why had he let her burn? Why had he left her alone, when he could have stopped it? She blamed him, and rightfully so. Sam needed to forget.

Sitting up, he considered his options. After a brief glance at a bottle of whiskey on the other side of the room, he quickly dismissed the idea and decided to get some research done. He wasn’t about to give into his angst and get shitfaced. Not after, in light of recent events, Dean had put considerable efforts into keeping him as far away from alcohol as possible. Not while they had a case. People were dying.

Considering his last research session had been a depressing failure, Sam’s gaze wandered inevitably to the leather-bound book that lay on his brother’s bedside. It couldn’t hurt to look while he was awake. He quietly pulled it from beside Dean’s peaceful face and began to flip through.

As expected, he didn’t find much. The only bloodsucking creature John had logged in there was the vampire, and he’d never heard of one that ate vagina. Part of him already knew what he’d find, but there was something comfortable about flipping through the pages of the old book. Maybe it was the way it smelled, or the way they brought it everywhere they went. Maybe it was as much of a home to him as the Impala, or Dean. Maybe he hadn’t had a solid nine hours of sleep in over a month. Who was to say, really…

Before he knew it, he was drifting off at the desk.

 

.oOo.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy, first fic


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam is sad, Dean is suspiciously productive, and things get a little bit gay.  
> Not in that order.

_ Sam. _

Her voice was soft, and honey-thick, lulling him into pleasant comfort.

_ Sammy. _

He drifted further, clinging to the sound of her voice. It ran through him, leaving his whole body warm and heavy. The voice swirled around inside him, eventually settling around his chest, growing heavier…

_ Sam, why? _

The weight grew. His heart and the area around it was sinking down further, and further…

_ Why did you leave me here? _

Warmth turned to heat, and heat turned to blistering skin. Sluggishly, he tried to scramble away from it, but it was coming from inside him. His chest was burning like his heart were made of lava. The weight grew.

_ You wanted this to happen. _

No. This wasn’t happening. The pressure in his chest grew until he couldn’t breathe. Gasping, his eyes shot open to reveal the inevitable.

There she was. The mouth he used to kiss was wide open in a scream, as roaring flames surrounded the body he used to touch. Every inch of skin he had ever explored, traced over and loved was crumbling to ashes in front of him. As her body turned to a charred husk, the blinding flames died down, as if they wanted him to look at her. To be able to watch as the woman he loved burned before his eyes.

_ Why, Sam? _

“No.” He couldn’t watch this again.

_ Why? _

“No.” He couldn’t.

_ Sam. _

He wouldn’t.

_ Sam... _

He--

“Sam!”

Just as he was about to start screaming, Sam’s eyes snapped open. They were met with paper mashed against his face. He’d fallen asleep at the desk. Grunting, he sat up and wiped some drool off his cheek, turning around to find Dean, who looked almost as tired as he felt.

“Well, good morning, Princess.” Dean gave him an assessing look. “You alright? I was calling your name for, like, a minute.”

His tone was laced with deliberate indifference, but Sam knew better than to think he didn’t know or care what that was. Dean had known about the nightmares for a while, and was far too much of a mom to not get freaked. So when Dean strolled over, handing him a change of clothes and a razor, telling him to get his smelly ass in the shower, Sam got the message.

_ “I AM INCREDIBLY CONCERNED AND DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT OTHER THAN PROVIDE UNNECESSARY MOTHERING.” _

Sam let it slide.

Under the warm spray, he let his thoughts drift. Unfortunately, since he wasn’t a normal person who could think about the weather or a good book, his mind inevitably drifted to his dead girlfriend. He remembered their first date.

_ “So, Sam Winchester. You’re quite the character.” _

She really did have the most beautiful voice.

_ “Uh, no. I’ve just about got the personality of stale white bread, to be honest.” _

Her smile was beautiful too. All dimples and sparkling eyes. Sam tried his best to remember her that way, not the way she was the last time he saw her.

_ “I don’t buy it. You’re more like… Fresh whole-wheat.”  _ She always could make him laugh. And she would laugh with him.  _ “Maybe just a little past it’s prime.” _

That night they’d both gotten drunk off something dyed blue, and shared their first kiss outside the bar waiting on a taxi.

It was then that Sam realized he didn’t know how long he’d been standing in the shower, and he’d probably had enough thinking for several eternities.

Stepping out, he clothed and shaved, mentally preparing himself to continue the hunt. Usually they had at least some vague clues at this point in a case, but so far they had nothing but a necrophilic boyfriend whom Dean, understandably, didn’t want to share details about. It was far too early to be at a dead end, but there they were.

As Sam emerged from the bathroom, Dean immediately shot up and grabbed his handful of toiletries.

“Finally, I thought you fell and died in there. Why don’t you run into town and grab us some breakfast.” Dean had obviously gotten over being concerned in the past ten minutes. “And none of your healthy shit, I want something with bacon. You know the drill.”

“One day you’re going to regret stuffing yourself full of sugar and carbohydrates.”

“Mmm. Doubtful.” Dean slammed the door behind him. Sam shook his head and carried himself out the door to the nearest diner. When he arrived back at the room, Dean was dressed and pacing back and forth.

“Hey.” He tossed him his bacon, egg and cheese sandwich before sitting down and waiting for Dean to do the same. After a moment, Dean did, not only sitting down, but collapsing on the bed, sighing so deep he practically deflated.

Sam pursed his lips. “Dean, I--”

“Whoo, sorry Sammy. This bed is just so comfortable.”

So much for his brother not mothering him.

“Dean--”

“Mmmmmm, yep. Kinda makes you want to catch a few hours. On a real bed. Not on a desk for five minutes.”

“De--”

“Pppppppppfffffffftttt…”

“Dean, will you fucki--”

“Fffffffttttttt…”

“Dean.”

“Fft.”

He paused. Dean paused.

“You done?” Sam inquired.

“Yeah, I guess.” Dean was still sprawled across the bedspread. It looked like he had no intention to move anytime soon.

“Can we get to the case now?” Sam really didn’t need his brother’s antics right now. What he needed was to keep moving, so that they could kill this thing, move on to find Dad, and eventually find Jess’s killer. Maybe when they did he would stop seeing her every night.

“Need to take a break one of these days. Sorry I asked.” Dean mumbled just loud enough for him to hear. He sat up. “Alright Sam, what do you got?”

“Um.” Sam blinked. He actually hadn’t been expecting Dean to agree so easily, and he had absolutely no idea what there was to say about the case. He really was fucking tired. “I don’t…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Dean had that silently triumphant look on his face that Sam recognized from when he was a kid and Dean was just getting him to eat his vegetables. He didn’t like it. “Seriously, we’re not going to get anywhere with both of us running on fumes. Let’s just--”

“Vampire.” The word left his lips before it really registered. Unsure of where it came from, he guessed he was just willing to say anything to avoid more nightmares.

“What.” Dean looked pretty confused as well.

What indeed, Sam thought.

“I dunno, could be something. The thing did drain all the victims of blood, mostly, and theoretically, it would be able to sustain them for about a month, so--”

“No, I mean  _ what. _ That sounds exactly like this porno I saw.”

Of course. Sam was close to sighing in relief. He had temporarily avoided another nightmare.

“So, that enough of a lead for you?”

“Worth a shot.” Dean grabbed his jacket. “You stay here, do some more research, maybe get some shuteye.”

With one backward glance, and before Sam could say another word, he was out the door.

 

.oOo.

 

Even with his brother gone, Sam had only avoided one obstacle, being Dean’s aggressively maternal attitude. This left him to deal with keeping himself awake in a warm, quiet room. After about an hour, he felt himself nodding off. He opened the curtains to let in more light. An hour after that, he had to turn on the AC. Seven hours and twelve cups of coffee later when Dean called saying that he had just about wrapped up his interrogations, Sam realized that he had been so focused on staying awake he hadn’t gotten any research done.

“Hey man, I’m wrapping up here. You get anything useful?”

“Uh…” Sam stared at the police reports he’d been reading over and over. “Guess not.”

“Okay. Get any sleep?”

“You score with any frisky women? I know what you’re really trying to do when you go out ‘interrogating.’ ” Sam deflected.

A pause.

“Any men?” He suggested playfully.

“Well, what can I say Sam. Life’s good when you’re bad.”

“That… That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Shut up, I was trying to be deep.” Sam heard the car door slamming and engine starting. “On my way.”

The phone beeped as Dean hung up.

Sam didn’t have a lot of time to make it look as if he had been productive before the door opened and Dean came in. Seeing both of the beds still made, he raised an eyebrow.

“So what’ve you been doing all day then?” Dean wondered, shrugging off his jacket. “Porn?”

“You’re the worst and have no sense of decency.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“Y’know, I kind of want that on my tombstone. Put that on my tombstone. ‘He was the worst, and had no sense of decency.’”

Sam sighed heavily, and sat back down. “So what did you find?”

“Whelp, while you were in here jacking off to police reports, I found out about this store around the edge of town. According to neighbors, this crazy kid was spotted almost every night sneaking in there, and never seen come out. A little while ago, she started bringing this other chick with her, equally suspicious. Right about when the killings started.”

“Well has anyone thought to go in the store?”

“Always closed, no signs of life during the day. What do you say we check it out tonight?”

“Sounds good.”

A few hours passed until dusk, all of which were spent uncomfortably, with Dean staring him down and making noises of bliss while stretched out on his bed. Sam was about to scream when they finally set out.

Dressed in suits and fake FBI badges in hand, the two knocked on the door of the ominous store. Moments before they pulled up, a girl who looked about seventeen or eighteen had slid inside and shut the door. Of course, if she was in fact a vampire, she must have been much older than her appearance implied. Sam consciously gripped his gun.

It took several minutes for the girl and whoever else was with her to realize that they weren’t going to stop knocking. The door finally opened to reveal the girl they had seen coming in. She even looked like a stereotypical teenage vampire, with shoulder length black hair, pale skin, and dressed almost entirely in black, spare for her dark green flannel shirt.

“Can I help you?”

“FBI.” Sam informed her almost automatically. They both flashed their badges. “We’d like to ask the owner of the establishment a few questions, if that’s all right.”

Dean was giving her an odd look.

“Um, listen,” The girl’s eyes darted back inside the building before she continued. “This really isn’t a good time. If you could come back later--”  
“I’m sorry,” Dean interrupted, “are you, by any chance, Amanda Clover?”

She paused, and leaned against the doorframe, covering her surprise. “The FBI knows my name. Something I should know about?”

By now, Sam was completely lost, but they kept talking.

“No, it’s just… Ma’am, every previous, er--partner--of yours has died, if I’m correct. That’s three women in a single year. A bit of an unfortunate trend, wouldn’t you say?”

“ _ Dying _ is an unfortunate trend, agent. I honestly don’t know what you’re expecting me to say. And what’s the FBI doing here now, anyway?”

The look Sam gave him must have been lost and panicked enough, because Dean took that moment to excuse the two of them momentarily.

“Dean, who the hell is Amanda Clover?” He demanded in a whisper.

“It’s--she’s… I was talking with the locals about suspicious activity, and every one of them mentioned her. She’s like the only scrap of gossip they have in this godforsaken town, I swear. One of them showed me a newspaper article with her face. Every girlfriend she had, which, she’s gone through quite a few, in the year 2001 has died of some accident.”

“And you didn’t think to mention that before? That’s valuable info!”

“I don’t know, I figured it was just rumors. People do love to antagonize people like her.”

“People like…”

“Y’know.”

“... Like, gay people?”

“I mean… Yeah.”

Sam would've laughed if Amanda hadn’t still been standing in the doorway. “Not like you’re exactly a straight arrow,” he mumbled loud enough to receive a sharp kick to his ankle. He glanced quickly back at the girl, who was beginning to look impatient. “Alright, well let’s find out if she’s who we’re looking for.”

Dean grunted and they returned to Amanda.

“Sorry about that Ms. Clover. We’d like to come in, if that’s alright.” One more flash of the badge.

By the front windows, the space was filled with clutter. Dusty chairs, desks, filing cabinets and other unwanted furniture created a view for bypassers that would suggest it to be just an abandoned store. Behind the clutter was a doorway that led to a small living space. They asked Amanda and her most recent girlfriend all the standard questions. Apparently, Gina Harley knew exactly what she was getting into, and thanked them for their concern. The couple had bought the space with plans to set up a studio, but ended up moving in instead when it turned out they couldn’t afford much more. Sam and Dean left unsatisfied, with no solid evidence that she was their perpetrator, and nothing that strongly suggested otherwise.

“I dunno man, I don’t think she’s our guy. She wasn’t nervous at all, and the girlfriend seems pretty human. Hell, she’s a vegan.” Dean shifted in his seat, slowing the car down for some pedestrians.

Sam was still feeling more than a little skeptical. “Yeah, well you can’t deny they’re our best lead just because you have a feeling.”

Dean seemed to dismiss this, and immediately collapsed on the bed closest to the door once they got back to their room. Despite his exhaustion, Sam was feeling increasingly uncomfortable at Dean’s confidence in his gut feeling. Although it was true that the only vampires they’d encountered didn’t come anywhere close to blending in with society, there was something he couldn’t shake about Amanda and Gina. Maybe it was the evidence, or the way they snuck around when they were supposedly doing nothing wrong. Maybe it was just the way they looked. Fucking hipsters.

Whatever it was, Sam couldn’t shake it when he prepared himself for another sleepless night. He still couldn’t shake it when he laid down on the lumpy mattress and shut off the light. And he still couldn’t shake it when he first heard Dean’s soft snores, indicating that he no longer needed to pretend to be asleep. Sam decided to take a walk.

Vermont was nice this time of year. Most places in July were boiling hot even at night, but the night air was cool and quiet, with only a few mosquitos here and there to bother him. The night was clear too, giving him a full view of the stars in the dizzying night sky. He took a deep breath and marveled at the emptiness of the streets at 12AM.

Usually, at this point in the case, they were between a few leads, and would chase the strongest one. This time, they only had one lead, one that Dean seemed to be resolutely refusing to acknowledge as valid for some reason. At least they had something, and Sam was going to look further into that something, whether his brother agreed or not. They had a lead, which meant they’d finally gotten their shit together with this godforsaken case.Unfortunately, this left all their shit in a pile that was going to burn a hole in the floor, and one of them was inescapably going to eat it. 

As it turned out, Sam ate shit when something blunt impacted with the back of his head, and the world quieted.

 

.oOo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally I have no idea what my writing even is. Thanks so much, if you've read this far.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam eats shit, Dean is an actual mom, and life is a gay sitcom.  
> Not in that order.

The first thing that registered was he hadn’t dreamt. This was surprising, considering he also hadn’t dreamt two nights ago, and Jess had been on his mind more than ever lately. His second thought was how suspicious this was. He certainly hadn’t just gotten over it, so why was there a sudden lack of torture in his subconscious? Not that he was complaining. Sam drifted for a little while, not quite unconscious, but still content enough with his lack of nightmares to relax…

The next thing that registered was pain. Oh god, it fucking hurt. Throbbing, dense, pain pulsed in his whole body, sourcing from several areas and echoing in his ears. Before he could stop it, a moan escaped his lips. Almost immediately, he heard footsteps, muffled by the pounding in his ears.

“--awake? Thank--you hit--we’d have another--can’t do that.”

He only heard snippets of what she was saying, and couldn’t quite process the words through the fog in his head. A new voice appeared.

“Jesus, I--told me that. You think--ripped--don’t know my own--the fucking Brawny man.”

“You’re an idiot.”

It was definitely the two girls from before. And apparently, they didn’t appreciate the brothers’ investigation.  
If they killed him, Dean was going to be pissed for all eternity.

Sam felt something tightening around his wrists, then his torso before letting himself fade out again.

The next time he opened his eyes was even less comfortable than the last. This time, there was a tight gag around his head, preventing him from crying out. He hadn’t been blindfolded, but the room was dark, and what he could see seemed morphed, and blurred around the edges. Sam made the mistake of trying to focus on a vague blob of an object in his vicinity, when everything tilted to the side and he had to resist the urge to vomit. His eyes slammed shut as he tried not to choke himself. The distinct sound of footsteps was back. Fantastic.

Someone was grabbing his hair and lifting his face up. Mostly still focused on not being sick, he barely heard what she was saying. Tentatively, he opened his eyes just a crack.

“Welcome back.” Gina spoke over the rush in his ears. “Sorry about the rough handling… And binding. Honestly, we’ve never had to deal with hunters before.”

“ _ You’ve  _ never had to.” Amanda was somewhere in the room, but Sam couldn’t see her. As was previously noted, he couldn’t see much of anything, and was not having an overall great experience with that. “I’ve handled them pretty well up until now.”

Without proper focus, Sam assumed the face Gina made was sheepish.

“Hey Babe...”

“Mmm.” Amanda wasn’t amused. It was almost comedic how casual and domestic they were while kidnapping, and likely planning to kill him. It was like a fucking sitcom. He imagined the laugh track playing as Amanda rolled her eyes, and Gina shrugged comically.

Sam decided he had probably suffered a minor concussion.

His head continued to swim as the couple bickered, and he hazily noted one of them pricking something into his arm. Blinking furiously, Sam gave her what he hoped was a threatening stare. Maybe it was more like what Dean called his Bitch Face, because Gina stifled a giggle. Amanda sighed.

“You want me to explain, don’t you?”

Sam processed this, and did his best to nod.

“I mean…” She paused, supposedly to consider, or to look to her partner for guidance. “It couldn’t--”

“Are you fucking serious?” Gina interrupted before she could continue. “We’re honestly going to do the whole villain cliche thing?”

“What cliche?”

“Y’know, the one.”

“Gina, what.”

Gina made an obnoxiously exaggerated noise of exasperation. It almost reminded him of Dean, who was apparently running late. “I swear to God, why are we even dating? You know, when the hero is like, on the edge of a cliff, or tied up--” She gestured to Sam. “--like so. So he gets the villain, or--” She pointed to herself, then to Amanda. “--villainesses--to talk. Stalling until he makes his daring escape.”

“Okay, how the fuck was I supposed to get that from ‘the one?’”

_ Cue laugh track. _

“Alright, fine.” Amanda continued. “Let’s just leave him till the thing’s full. Then I’ll show you how to get rid of a body.”

“Romantic.”

After that, his awareness degraded, going from underwater, to swimming in syrup, to immersed in molasses. Fighting hard to stay conscious, he didn’t have a spectacular grasp on how much time was passing. However, he had at some point figured out that the thing in his arm was pulling blood out of his body, and into a jar by his foot. A meal for them, probably. He was barely awake when some commotion sounded at the front of the building.

“... Babe? That you?” Amanda, who he guessed had been sitting in the room all along, sounded cautious.

“Huh?” Gina’s voice came from behind him, sounding like her mouth was stuffed with food.

“Shit.”

_ Laugh track again. _ This time, Sam giggled out loud, deliriously. He wondered what the show would be called.

“Shut your face.” She addressed him.

_ Your Average Vampire Couple,  _ Sam thought.

Objects were crashing over as both of them scrambled for their weapons, but he trusted it was too late for them. They’d invoked his big brother by violating one of three rules to never break.

_ My Bloodsucking Girlfriend. _

Don’t touch Dean’s food.

_ Amanda and Gina’s Adventures in Murder. _

Don’t touch Dean’s car.

_ You Want Me to do What With the Body?! _

And don’t touch Dean’s little brother.

_ Life as a Bloodthirsty Lesbian.  _ That was the one.

Gina yelped as she was apparently tackled immediately upon stepping into the entryway. Before he knew it, Dean had a long knife to both of their necks, and all three of them were by the wall closest to him. Sam let his head drop to his chest. Dean was here.

“Start talking.”

The one closest to him, Gina, he guessed, shifted before thinking better of it.

“It’s a long story--” She tried.

“Yeah, well, make it shorter, unless you want me to slice your fucking head off.” Everyone shifted as Dean pressed them further against the wall.

Amanda spoke up.

“We tried doing it the right way…”

“I’m a vegan, so…” Gina cut in.

“Yeah, she’s a vegan. So when she found out I was… You know.”

“A bloodsucking freak?” Dean suggested. He sounded worried.“Hurry it up.”

“... Sure. So, we figured out a solution.”

“I came up with it.” Gina corrected, unhelpfully.

“Please shut up. Yeah, Gina came up with it. I only have to feed once a month, and, well… She figured… What else happens once a month that involves blood? So… We, um...” She trailed off.

Sam thought about this, and suddenly had the urge to giggle hysterically. He could hear the gears turning in Dean’s head, thinking hard.

“You… She…” Dean still wasn’t getting it. “I don’t… Oh.  _ Oh…” _

Sam stopped trying to hold it back, and cackled madly around the gag. He felt eyes on him, but couldn’t bring himself to care. Part of him figured it wasn’t really as funny as it seemed, especially considering his situation. But this was fucking hilarious. This was…

He’d forgotten what he was laughing about.

“So anyway,” Gina continued. “We did that for a long time. It actually worked out really well. The tissue and other lining was nutritious, and we both got a kick out of it while we could.” The two of them giggled, but Sam didn’t get it this time. Dean presumably pressed the knife down harder, because they quickly silenced.

“Keep talking.”

“Well… That kinda stopped.” 

“Christ, Gina, you make it sound like you’re in menopause.”

“Well, I might as well be--hey, can you tone it down with the knife there, buddy? It’s not as if you aren’t going to kill us anyway.”

“No, actually, I don’t think I will ‘tone it down.’” Sam was surprised Dean had even lasted that long without decapitating them both. Personally, he thought the girls were a riot, but he was also rapidly losing life force and coherent thought. Dean probably didn’t like them as much.

“Well, fine…” Amanda spoke again. “It stopped after I turned her. We didn’t really plan for it to happen, it just kind of did. Since then we’ve been looking for a willing donor, and haven’t been able to find one… Hence the, er…”

“The six women you assaulted and killed?” Sam had kind of forgotten how scary his brother was.

“When you put it that way…” Gina grumbled. “Yeah. Those. We didn’t mean to kill them, honestly. After she turned, Gina’s been getting sick if she can’t feed enough. She was throwing up, she had violent fevers… I really just wanted to save my girlfriend.” 

Dean paused for a moment. Maybe they were gaining his sympathy.

Apparently not.

“You know whose girlfriend you didn’t save?” He inquired sharply. “Don Cunningham’s. Shawn Noble’s. All the other people who had their loved ones taken from them because your girlfriend was a little hungry. And you know what? Coming near my brother was the biggest mistake of your immortal life.”

A blur of noises sounded, but Sam didn’t know what to make of them. Slicing. Thudding. Sobbing. Screaming and slashing. He didn’t open his eyes. Silence followed, and, thoughts beyond murky at that point, he let himself float away. Dean would take care of it.

Before he was gone, something irritating started tugging him back towards unpleasant awareness. Hadn’t he stayed awake long enough?

“Hey, Sam.” Dean was still there. He was prodding at his face and pulling the thing out of his arm. “Sammy, don’t drift off on me, okay? C’mon.”

Dean worked the gag off his mouth and Sam let out an unintentional sigh.

“That’s it, just open your eyes, Sasquatch, okay?” He was teasing. That meant it wasn’t that bad, right? Sam complied anyway, to gauge the concern on his brother’s face.

It turned out he still couldn’t see all that well, but Dean seemed pleased with him anyway.

“Hey,” he tried, conversationally.

“Hey yourself. You trying to get yourself killed?”

“Nnngh.” It wasn’t what he’d meant to convey, but then again he hadn’t had anything in mind to say in the first place, so he wasn’t sure what he expected. Dean was working on something, and Sam focused hard, trying to figure out what it was. It looked like he was getting the ropes off of him, but he was only loosening them. It would be a lot more productive to just slice them off, wouldn’t it? He decided to try voicing this.

“N-not even cutting them all the way through… Gonna... Tangled.” It came out better than expected.

“Yeah, well, sometimes half-ass is exactly the right amount of ass. Not going to risk cutting you, little brother. These are pretty tight, and you probably could do without the extra damage.”

Sam wanted to ask why not, but decided against it, after his earlier attempts at communication left him exhausted. He let him keep working. After a few more minutes, Dean looked back at him, likely to check if he was still awake. He was. Sort of.

“I gotta say Sam, for a Stanford boy…” Dean paused, focusing on removing the last of the ropes. “You’ve sure got a lot of confidence in your stupidity.”

“As opposed to your confidence,” He groaned as his limbs started to tingle, circulation returning. “Which comes from being delusional.”

Dean barked a laugh even though it wasn’t that funny, probably just grateful Sam had responded.

“C’mon, Kid, let’s get you to the car.”

Standing proved to be a challenge, but once that was over, Dean did all the heavy lifting, only complaining once or twice. Sam spaced out in the sense of comfort his brother brought with him, only coming back to himself to get situated in the Impala. He would patch Sam up. It was fine. He may have tipped over at some point and leaned on his brother’s shoulder, who didn’t seem to mind.

“Christ, Sam, you’re a mess.”

They were talking in the car, but Sam couldn’t really follow the conversation. Dean would say something witty and/or comforting, and he would give him whatever reply made the most sense. Dean eventually was running out of remarks, and Sam was running out of responses, and in the silence, he found himself crashing. Maybe it was the way the headlights reflected off the signs and roadmarks, maybe it was the warm summer night, or maybe it was the immense blood loss. Was he supposed to stay awake? Sam let his eyes drift shut.

Dean would take care of it, like he always did.

 

.oOo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In retrospect, I probably should have introduced a few other suspects before this confrontation, but oh well. Also, this was way more h/c than I meant for there to be. Oh fucking well, enjoy your gay vampires. I didn't edit this.  
> Also, there will be an epilogue, not because anyone asked for it or anything, just because I want to.


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam is a cockblocking robot, Dean's perfectly sculpted ass goes numb, and they both get really fucking drunk.  
> Not in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy, the epilogue no one asked for. Literally, this was just an excuse to work in more stupid dialogue, and I know nothing about blood transfusions or alcohol. Plus I didn't edit this chapter because, y'know what, we go out like men. Thanks if you've actually read this piece of trash

Sam woke up for the second time in twenty four hours, and to discomfort much less extreme than before. He was actually in a bed for the second time that week, and once more, his brother was snoring. The strange familiarity of this allowed him to keep his eyes closed for a little longer as he pieced together what had happened.

The last thing he clearly remembered was going on a stroll. Then there was pain and more pain. He seemed to recall the two girls they had interrogated before, who must have taken him while he was being a dumbass and not paying attention. And they had… Watched Seinfeld? That part was fuzzy. Then Dean had come and fixed everything.

Sam peeled open his eyes and turned to look at his brother. Not finding him on the other bed, his gaze drifted downwards, where Dean had apparently fallen asleep on the floor by his bedside. Sam wondered why he wasn’t surprised.

Letting Dean sleep for a little while longer, he assessed whatever injuries must have been inflicted for him to remember so little. His head hurt slightly, but not enough to suggest a concussion, which was good. There were definitely plenty of minor bruises and lacerations, but none were more than superficial. The only thing that really ached were his arms. Upon further inspection, his left bicep was wrapped neatly in bandages. His right arm had a massive, ugly bruise around a tiny wound, which was covered by a Spongebob band-aid, like he’d gotten a shot. Sam decided not to worry about where Dean had gotten that. Really, it just felt like he was hungover.

Dean chose that moment to wake up with a loud snort, followed by a noise of apparent displeasure at having woken up on a floor that likely hadn’t been vacuumed for several motel visits’ time.

“Mornin’…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, blinking heavily, before looking at Sam and straightening. “Oh--morning. How you feeling?”

Sam considered this. “A little confused… Pretty much fucked and useless.”

“Well, thanks for choosing fucked and useless over dead.” Dean grunted, hoisting himself off the floor. “That was a doozy. You, little brother, owe me a drink.”

“Yeah, well…” Sam propped himself against the headboard of the bed. “What happened exactly?”

Dean plopped down on the bed parallel to his. “Well, to summarize, you need to start telling me when you’re going out vampire hunting in the middle of the night. Those absolute fucking walnuts were basically draining you by the time I got there. Almost thought about taking you to a hospital when I remembered we still had the stuff for a blood transfusion in the trunk. You should thank me for being O neg’.”

“Did… Did you honestly just call them ‘absolute fucking walnuts.’” 

“Guess so.” Dean’s forehead wrinkled like he was trying to figure that out himself.

It occurred to Sam that Dean could have gotten injured at some point in his daring rescue. Concern overpowered exhaustion, allowing him to sit up completely and perch on the edge of the bed to examine his brother. Dean didn’t seem to like this.

“Are  _ you  _ alright?”

“Yeah, Sam, other than sleeping on the floor making my perfectly sculpted ass go numb. Will you lie back?” Dean’s worried mom mode was kicking in again, it seemed.

“I’m fine, seriously.” Sam complied anyway, leaning back on the headboard. “Thanks for patching me up, but I honestly feel okay.”

He seemed to visibly relax by this, even if the mom instinct hadn’t completely diminished. “Yeah, well, just take it easy.” He paused. “I’m gonna get you some water.”

“I’m not a child, Dean.”

“Course not. That’s why you get water, not chocolate milk.” He placed the glass in Sam’s hand and waited for him to hydrate. “Speaking of which, I’d really like to take you up on that drink tonight.”

“You sure that’s a good idea right after a blood transfusion?” He didn’t want to flare up Dean’s inner mom again, but was still surprised at the suggestion. “I mean, you’re acting like I’m mortally wounded or something.”

“Exactly why you’re taking it easy now. Nothing wrong with a little fun at the end of the night.” Dean dismissed. “And, as your doctor, I entirely approve of the two of us getting drunk together for once.”

“What do you mean, for once?” Sam shifted, getting comfortable as he probably wasn’t going to be allowed to move for most of the day. “You go on a bender every other week.”

“Come on, Sam. When was the last time we drank together? Why are you so against a little brotherly bonding? After all, I saved your ass.”

He was right. If it weren’t for Dean, Sam’s ass would probably be drained of all blood, upside down in a garbage disposal. A little grin pulled at his face, much to Dean’s satisfaction.

“Alright, fine. I’m not getting totally shitfaced though, okay? At least one of us needs to be an actual adult.”

“Course not.” Dean grinned.

 

.oOo.

 

Sam was totally shitfaced. Part of him had known this was inevitable by the time they’d set foot in Charlie-O’s pub, and Dean had gone straight to the hard stuff, not-so-subtly urging him to let loose. The other part of him thought him to be much less of a lightweight than he actually was, insisting that one more shot couldn’t hurt. Whatever it was, twelve thirty in the morning that Saturday found Sam rocking back and forth in a barstool to some awful pop song, watching Dean hit on the bartender a few seats away.

He didn’t normally enjoy watching his brother flirt, as it was a little gross and he’d rather pretend he had no association with Dean, but now he was feeling more than a little tipsy, and finding the scene pretty hilarious. He laughed out loud when the woman gave Dean a smile like she was talking to a child, and stood back with her arms crossed, undoubtedly telling him something about what kind of a person it would make her to get with every drunk guy who hit on her. Sam had witnessed that conversation more than enough times.

It suddenly struck him how far away Dean was. He was only a few seats away, but it felt like a million miles. The whole point of tonight was to have fun together, and to  _ bond.  _ They weren’t  _ bonding _ . This wasn’t right. Sam stood on unsteady feet and made his way over to Dean. It felt like he was setting out on a massive trek, but he found himself next to his older brother in just a few seconds. Dean turned to him expectantly.

“Uh…” Sam had actually forgotten what he was going to say. “Wha’s-what’s happening, Dude?”

Sam realized the bartender was still there, and she was making that smile again, this time at both of them. He wondered why. It wasn’t like he was flirting with her.

“I’m going to keep working, unless you two party animals need anything, alright?” She left them to talk. Sam turned to Dean.

“You’re like a giant cockblocking robot.” Dean stared at him incredulously. “Like, developed in some secret government lab for maximum efficiency. How do you do it, Sam?”

“What? You didn’t have a chance with her, Man.” He still couldn’t remember what it was he’d come over to ask, but decided it wasn’t important.

“I was taking it slow. And she w’s totally into it. ‘S all in the eyes.”

“Right…”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the scene and each other’s company. Sam spoke up.

“So, ‘s’this what you wanted? Drinking and bonding?”

“What I wanted was for you to loosen up a bit. Y’feeling loose yet?”

“Loose as you can get when e’rything’s this shitty…”

“You’re too sober.”

Sam begged to differ, but didn’t protest when Dean called the bartender back for another round. She came over and chewed her lip, looking at the two of them and the clock thoughtfully.

“Tell you what. We’re closing up in twenty. I’ll give you one more round, then I’m calling you boys a ride home, okay?”

“One more round and you take me back to your place.” Dean bargained.

“Nice try.”

“One more round and a beer.”

She had a pretty smile. Sam kind of understood why Dean was pursuing her so relentlessly. Kind of.

“Deal.”

Dean made a ‘score’ motion to Sam, pumping his fist like he’d just struck the best deal of his life. Sam watched in fascination as he threw his head back, not seeming to feel the burn at all. Soon, he found that he wasn’t quite feeling it anymore either, the drink going down easily.

The last round and extra beer was probably a bad idea, he realized when his head felt even lighter than before, and limbs became heavier.

Sam hadn’t noticed they were the only ones left in the bar until the bartender--Phoebe--escorted them both outside herself, both tripping over themselves and giggling uncontrollably. He must’ve said some slurred version of “thank you, Phoebe,” because Phoebe laughed, said he was very welcome, and told the driver to make sure they got to their motel room safely. Someone gently situated him in the back of a car and buckled him in, and he mumbled a “thanks,” to them too. The rumble of the engine, while it wasn’t the Impala, was familiar and made his eyes grow heavier.

Dean must have noticed his drooping eyelids and dreamy expression, because moments later he was poking at his side.

“Hey.” His eyes were glazed.

“Mhmm.” Sam didn’t bother with real words anymore.

“Yo-you finally cut loose a little?”

Sam laughed, loud and sloppy.

“Think so.”

“Good. Tha's good… S’what I wanted. W’s startin’ to think there’s something shoved up your ass.”

“Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah…”

“Y’re not driving.”

“Oh.” Dean paused, like he was thinking hard. “This isn’t m’car.”

“Yeah…” Something was wrong with that, but Sam couldn’t hold on to the reason why.

“S’okay.” Dean voiced.

That one slurred phrase proved to have a lot of power over Sam when it came from his brother, relaxing him even more. Dean seemed to notice him dropping off, and clumsily patted his knee.

“S’okay, S’mmy, I’ll make sure nothing bad happens.”

“Y’sure?” He managed before drifting off.

“Yeah… Tha’s my job, right? I’ll take care of you.”

He always did.

 

.oOo.


End file.
